The Tide Can't Wait (12 page)

She did not hear a single shot by the time she and Barr reached the second pile of wood. He lay on his stomach, panting, and when he had his breath, said, “That was being too much of a damned fool.”

“I make a smaller target than you.”

“And a whiter one,” he commented dryly.

The sprint to the boat was a good thirty yards, all in full moonlight. Her feet seemed to her to be flying, skimming over the hard shingle. Yet she thought she would never reach her goal.

She heard the shot, a single rifle, but if the bullet struck close she was unaware of it. Then there was the blessed shadow of the upturned sand-filled boat. Almost at once, Barr was beside her. This time he lay for a longer time and when he rose, he did so slowly. His strength was nearly gone.

“We can make it now,” she said. “If we keep out of Portia's light, we'll be in shadow all the way.”

“Sure,” Barr said. He rose and she followed. They went slowly. She wanted to run, but she stayed close behind him in case he should fall. She did not even think that she might not be able to handle his weight if he did collapse.

There was no sound from behind them but the putting of the launch. It was still there but, momentarily, the danger from it was stilled.

At the top of the path, Barr dropped low and crawled in a semicircle past the little puddle of light from Portia's window. He said softly over his shoulder, “Only a couple hundred yards more.”

It sounded like miles, she thought dully. Then the light was behind them and she started to rise. Barr had paused, kneeling, with his head hanging. While she watched, horrified, he began to move, sliding forward, sprawling, until he lay stretched out, motionless.

“Rob?”

He did not stir. Panic rose in her and she grabbed his shoulder to turn him over, to get his face out of the dirt. Her hand touched blood, warm and sticky, and she jerked back.

From the darkness a husky voice said, “Can I help?”

Lenny felt sickness clamp down in her stomach. Portia Sloane stood there. And Lenny could not doubt that she had signaled the launch with her light, that she was on Leon's side.

Slowly Lenny rose to her feet and looked past Portia at the moonlit cove. The launch was moving now, swinging about and going away. In the near distance she heard a car motor start up. They were all going. They were leaving it to Portia.

She said, “He's shot,” her voice dulled by the hopelessness that filled her. “They shot him.” She stepped forward so that she stood astraddle Barr's recumbent body.
I'm bigger than she
, Lenny thought.
I
won't give up now.

But the cold air against her wet body, the weariness, the near exhaustion, all closed in about her suddenly and she could only stand and shake, her teeth chattering.

“For God's sake,” Portia said. “Here. Give me a hand with him or you'll both be dead of pneumonia.”

Portia was blocking Lenny's view of the cove now, but Lenny could hear the putting of the launch and it seemed to her that it was returning. “They'll come back,” she said. “They'll shoot him again.”

Portia's hand caught her bare arm, bruising it. “Stop that! Come and help me!”

The sharp pain from the grip broke through to Lenny's consciousness. She backed away from Barr's body and Portia bent, catching Barr under the armpits. Lenny followed suit, taking the ankles.

Barr was incredibly heavy and awkward, completely limp, and Lenny had to dig her fingers into his ankles to keep her grip. Her knuckles and the tendons in her wrists began to ache with the pressure. But she dared not turn him loose.

They went through the kitchen into the snug warmth of Portia's little house. They laid Barr on Portia's low, wide bed. He was inert, his eyes closed, a pallor over his normally tanned skin. His breathing was regular and shallow and his chest lifted and fell rhythmically to the strong pulse of his heart.

Despite the warmth of the room, Lenny was shivering. “The police …”

Portia caught her shoulder and pushed her toward the bathroom. “Get yourself under a hot shower. Forget the police. He wouldn't thank you for calling them.”

Lenny remembered then. “A doctor?”

“For this? He's had worse and survived. A doctor has to report a gunshot wound. Now go on.”

Lenny did as she was told, standing under the shower, letting the hot water sluice over her. And then the warmth began to reach down into her.

She did not know how long she stood there, but the water was growing cool when Portia came in. Turning off the water, Portia wrapped Lenny in a great soft towel and led her through the bedroom to the divan. On her way past the bed, Lenny saw that Barr's shoulder was neatly bandaged, and she thought,
His color is better.
But at the moment it meant little to her.

Portia rubbed Lenny briskly with the big towel and used another on her head. “Your hair's a mess,” she said cheerfully. “You haven't any curl left. If you intend to mess around this way, wear it short and straight.”

Lenny said groggily, “Like yours?”

Portia laughed softly, “That could be a nasty remark, but I don't think so.”

“It was supposed to be,” Lenny said.

Giving her an odd look, Portia laughed again and left her. She returned in a few moments with a cup of tea, dark, hot, and strong, and well-laced with rum. Lenny drank the tea and smoked a cigarette Portia lighted and put in her hand. The tea began to warm her inside, thawing the places the hot shower had not been able to reach. She could feel the heat flowing outward from her stomach through all of her. It was wonderful.

She said obstinately, “They'll be back. I want to get the police …”

“The police be damned,” Portia answered. “They won't be back.”

Lenny felt that she was being very clever. “How do you know?” she asked slyly.

Portia sounded almost impatient. “Because I shot at them. I know that kind. They run when you turn on them. They come back, but they aren't the type to come out in the open. I hit their boat and they ran. Now forget it.”

It didn't make sense. Portia had shot at them, at the men in the boat. But it didn't really matter. The rum-laced tea had done its job; Lenny wanted only to sleep. She half felt Portia take the cigarette from her fingers, lift her legs onto the couch, and drop a blanket over her. When the light was turned off, she was totally unaware of it.

• • •

Lenny awakened slowly. She moved and pains shot the length of her legs and through her thighs. She lay for some time before awareness came to her and she remembered why she should be so stiff. She saw that gray morning light was coming through a side window. All the others were covered by draperies.

She threw the blanket from her and made an effort to stand. She managed and, swaying slightly, essayed a step. It hurt. Slowly she hobbled to the window, each step paining her a little less. Drawing the drapery, she started back for the divan in the darkness. She stopped as she heard the soft murmur of voices. Portia was talking to someone.

Carefully she walked through the gloom. When she reached the closed bedroom door, she stood motionless, listening. She was not really fully awake; her mind was fastened on Portia Sloane.

Portia was saying, “Rob, where would Leon get money enough to buy an organization like that? Gunmen don't come cheap in England.”

Barr's voice was lazy, fuzzy. “I doubt if he paid for it. He probably got a message to them, warning them I was on the move. Let's hope Stark was clever enough to follow the message. Maybe we've learned something.”

“At the cost of a bullet wound.”

“A cheap price to pay,” he said.

“Lenny might not have thought so if she'd been the one to get shot.”

Barr said, “They weren't shooting at her. She had my topcoat on, remember. By the way, how is she?”

“Asleep,” Portia said. “She was worn out—shock. She kept insisting on the police. She thinks they may come back.”

“They may,” Barr said.

“No,” Portia told him. “I shot at them.” He made a surprised sound and her voice rose. “I know I told you I was out of it, but do you think I wanted to let them come and finish you?”

“Sorry,” Barr said. “I still can't think straight. Anyway, I'm glad you took care of Lenny. Thanks.”

“I can see why you're glad,” Portia said. “She's quite something in that pseudo-bathing suit she was wearing.”

“I didn't notice.”

Silence.

Portia said, “Do you know where she stands yet, Rob?”

“Lenny? No. She told Price everything. Before that, I thought I knew where she stood. Now I'm not sure.”

Lenny stifled a gasp. She had told Barr no such thing. She …

Portia sounded puzzled. “She admitted that to you?”

“She denied it.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don't know. She's never really been in a fight before. And next time there won't be any warning.”

Portia said, “You can't turn her loose. Not now.”

“Of course not. I want Roget. I don't want her hurt or myself hurt, but I'll risk both to get his contact this time.”

“She can't stay at the inn,” Portia said thoughtfully. “Now that they know definitely she's with you.”

“No,” he agreed. “We're in this—Lenny and I.” He sounded faintly resigned. “She could move in with me, I suppose.”

Portia said, “I could help, Rob, if I knew what was going on.”

He mocked her almost savagely: “You don't, Portia?”

“I told you …”

Lenny felt as though she were trespassing. There was a good deal of emotion in both their voices. Whatever else she had learned by listening, she had found out that there was a good deal of intimacy between these two. It was in the way they spoke to each other. Barr did not trust Portia, but he was in love with her.

Lenny turned and tiptoed back to the divan. She lay awake for some time. The voices had ceased. At first, what Barr had said about her hurt a little. Then it angered her. And finally it became amusing. So the only safe way would be to have her move in with him!

Then she remembered that this was no game. Barr might not trust her, nor even like her, but he was willing to risk himself to protect her.

She lay for some time, letting the entire situation unfold in her mind, adding up Leon and what had happened last night.

She thought of Tommy Price and now she regretted having brought him into this at all. She realized that she had invited Tommy to share a very real danger. And not just from Leon and those others, but possibly from Barr as well.

He had said that he would be down today. Drowsily, she thought,
I'll send him away. Tell him it was a mistake.

She fell asleep.

• • •

Lenny awakened to sunshine bright in her eyes and the smell of coffee and bacon frying in her nostrils. She yawned and sat up. Portia appeared, looking fresh and wide-awake. She wore a yellow housecoat and held a spatula in one hand. Lenny could not help smiling.

“Your clothes are in the bedroom,” Portia said. “And breakfast is ready.”

Lenny found her suitcase on the floor and clothing for her laid neatly on the bed. One glance told her that everything she had had at the inn was here. She dressed, choosing slacks and T shirt in black and sandals. She reached the kitchen before she remembered about Barr.

Portia had the small table set with gay crockery and piled high with food. The kitchen clock said it was nearly eleven. Lenny was ravenous. It pleased her to note how quickly she had come back from her shock of the night before.

“Thank you for getting my clothes.” She let the implied question stand in her voice.

“I went out early and got yours and Rob's from the rocks,” Portia said. She poured them coffee. “At the inn I told them you'd spent the night with me after falling off the path into the water. They weren't surprised; that happens to visitors almost every moonlit night.”

“Since I went out there with your Rob Barr,” Lenny said, “that story doesn't leave me with much reputation.”

“No woman who goes with my Rob Barr—as you call him—ever keeps much of a reputation.” It was said lightly but Lenny could feel that Portia was waiting, watching her.

“He's all right?”

“Up and gone,” Portia admitted. “He didn't even stay for breakfast.”

Lenny chewed toast and bacon, took a long sip of coffee. It was very good coffee. She said, “You brought all of my things from the inn. Does that mean I'm to stay here, that it isn't safe at the inn now?”

“It isn't safe for those at the inn,” Portia said. “The launch might come back. Or the men from it. There's no use hurting innocent people.”

“I don't want to put you in danger.”

Portia's voice was dry. “I wouldn't mind, but Rob wants you closer to him. So you'll have to go to his place.” She smiled lazily. “You won't have any reputation left at all.”

Lenny matched Portia's frankness. “You don't have to worry about me. Or him. He doesn't trust me.”

Portia laughed. It was genuine laughter. “He doesn't trust me, either.”

When they were done, Lenny helped carry the coffee pot and cups to the table before the divan.

Portia said, “I can imagine how you feel—being uprooted like this, being told to move in with a strange man. But Rob feels it's necessary.”

“Because he doesn't trust me? Or because I can't handle myself?”

Portia looked squarely at her. “Did you enjoy what happened last night?”

Lenny shivered in recollection. “No,” she admitted. “It doesn't seem so bad by daylight, but last night it was ghastly. When I think about it, I'm afraid.”

“You always will be until Leon is finished,” Portia said abruptly.